


Dear Watson

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 17:38:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11628540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "He's dead""The test subject is perfectly fine.""But he's not 'himself'""We don't get to play the judges of this court case my dear Watson, only the detectives and attorneys."





	Dear Watson

On observation of the subject from the simple peephole on the door to the bedroom, it was an understatement to say the following; they were not the same. Perhaps it was the pain or the realisation that lead to a numbing despair, whatever the cause is, it has deemed the subject unresponsive. Initial testing and analysis after seeing this behavior has shown the deterioration of the physical body as well as a dissipating aura. Their soul is now to be classified as… inactive, with lack of better terms. Unfortunately this is also put ends to further vigorous experimentation of the subject.

It was a scene from an oil painting, frozen in an eternal state of timelessness. A child laid there, his face semi covered by the white sheets, unmoving and generally uninterested by any movements outside his direct field of vision, which of late seemed to be limited to the blank sight of his pillow. He had been in this room for how many weeks now? What once was now has now been rendered down into mere flesh, bones and blood. If eyes were the windows to the soul, then gazing into his would bring forth the picturesque embodiment of utter bedlam. On his bedside cabinet hummed a monitor that blinked to the pacing of his pulse, an arrhythmic alexithymia.

The next progress reports to the king are not due till the night of the winter solstice; thusly time is of the abundance to try to find a solution without this recent anomaly making an unneeded appearance. A clean track record shalt not be scribbled upon by the temporal co-operation of the test subject. Yet with morality kicking into play, one cannot stop but ponder upon what further actions to take with this dilemma. This research is indeed for the benefits of science yet under this justification, there is an unearthly amount of guilt when seeing their tears and hearing ever ringing screams during sleep. No, this illogical soft spot of pathos and ethos should not overtake my central processing governed by logos. It seemed my apprentice shared the same thoughts for he came heeding to me the following morning with more questions than I could offer factual answers to.

"This isn't murder, my dear “Watson”, if the kid is still alive."  
"But they look like their soul has escaped them. The child that once was has since ceased to exist."  
"What might be the cause, good sir?"  
"Someone killed that person. My verdict is psychological homicide."  
"But they are alive. Their heart is still beating, their lungs are still breathing, their brain is still functioning more or less."  
"Yet the person that once was is now dead."  
"You know there are no ways of prosecution if there is no corpse."  
"Why is it so that nothing can be done unless death reaps first?"  
"It takes a tragedy for the jury to turn their heads to the once seekers of help."  
"Do they need to watch fellow man die until they start caring? That's immoral!"  
"That's the world’s legal system for you. The jury does not lend ears to the sweet for they want only take interest in the gore. And the judge is our good friend, the silent breathed reaper.”  
“Then tell me sir, to what role do we play?”  
“We, dear “Watson”, are just attorneys in this world's court."

It seemed the explanation I gave him was unsatisfactory, and to be frank, I do not blame him. I would not have bought my reasoning either that day. An unspoken resignation could be heard at the cut of his sentence and then bite of his teeth. He and I were alike in dignity, mentality and integrity; there were no walls to hide behind when all around you is glass. The skeleton gave me a hollow glance and a mocking smile. We both knew too well that I did not want to move forward with this project either. A pause that seemed to linger for far longer than intended paced around my cluttered laboratory, it toppled stacks of papers, erased ink filled pages of observation notes; everything seemed so tempting at that moment. But my words were simply, “No.” He shrugged, walked out and lit his match into my basin of gasoline.

“Holmes, we all know who the real killer is here.”


End file.
